


All My Life

by veryveryverytemporarily



Category: Emmerdale, robron
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reunion, Supportive Aaron, Vulnerable Robert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22349128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veryveryverytemporarily/pseuds/veryveryverytemporarily
Summary: Post prison reunion fic. The effects of prison life run deep, Robert takes up a business tenancy on a farm keeping himself to himself. And then Aaron turns up and changes everything.
Relationships: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden
Comments: 80
Kudos: 147





	1. The Farm

**Author's Note:**

> so a lot of potential with this fic which started as just a series of short ficlets, but then I wanted to take it further and maybe explore how there's no straight trajectory of recovery after long term trauma  
> also sorry Diane xx

It’s been his safe place, where he retreats when the lights go out, chasing images of green fields and motorbikes, digging up onions, Côtes du Rhône - Aaron’s voice. Castles, or rather châteaux, in the air.

His memories of Aaron are mostly stills and moving shadows now … like the sun and wind blowing through the leaves on the day they first kissed.

He’s in the halfway house; no one knows.

He needs work, reads the ad.

_Opportunity at Manor Farm, Ghyll Lane_

_A 10-year Farm Business Tenancy is offered to a new entrant comprising_

_146 ha of permanent pasture, meadow, arable land and rough grazing…_

It’s not exactly a château, but it’s the outdoors that appeals, that, and well - _it’s what you Sugdens do, innit? Farming?_

No one’s more surprised than he is when he applies, no one’s more surprised when he gets it. There’s no one to be surprised anyway.

It’s bloody hard work, but he’s leaner, and even though he’s older he’s stronger than he once was. And he has hired help, and all those rusty business skills that turn out to be instinctive.

And then one day he’s fastened the harvester to the tractor, when he looks up and he’s there, car keys in hand, frowning at the fields.

‘When I said a veg patch, didn’t quite have this in mind, but you never did know how to do things by halves, did ya?’

‘How did you find me?’

‘You thought I wouldn’t?’

‘Haven’t you got a life?’

‘Yes, but I’d still like you in it.’

For a second their eyes meet; fierce, bright, then slide away.

‘I’ve got work to do.’

‘Alright, I’ll just wait here, if that’s alright.’

And he’s digging up onions while Aaron works his way through a six-pack, it isn’t Côtes du Rhône, but it’ll do.

They’re both quiet except for the drone of the tractor, letting the occasion seep in under their skins like the afternoon sunshine above.

They walk back towards the farmhouse.

‘Are you going to ask me in?’

‘I still don’t get why you’re here?’

‘It’s you, innit? It’s always been you…,’ Aaron says.

So Robert holds the door open, and follows him inside.

Through the door and it’s Aaron who makes the first move. 

They never were that good with words anyway, but this; this they were good at. There’s nothing tender about the kiss, it’s plain desire. Or something more; a deep almost primeval need as their mouths lock.

If he’s shocked, he hardly has time to register it, as the moment takes over emptying his mind of everything except the sensation of taste from his lips, and the heat in his belly. And then there’s panic too, because this is something else that he’s rusty at, and he hopes like his business skills it’s instinctive.

He doesn’t have time to worry.

Aaron’s already dragging his work sweater that he wears on the farm up by the hem, then over his head, and unzipping his hoodie. His hands are on his waist, they’re skin against skin.

And he’s swallowing back breaths trying to steady his heart when Aaron says, ‘ _Upstairs!’_

So he follows him, like he’s following him to heaven.

After, there they are, bare shoulders pressed against each other side by side on the bed, and Aaron’s unlocking his phone, showing him.

‘These are my kids.’

‘And your husband?’

‘It was great for, well, quite a while I suppose, but it didn’t work out in the end.’

‘I’m sorry, what went wrong?’

‘He wasn’t you, was he?’

He doesn’t know what to say, instead scoots off the bed, offers tea, or something stronger as he reaches for his jeans.

Aaron shakes his head.

‘I need to go now, really.’

Robert swallows, watches him dress, practices the words in his head before he says them:-

‘Will you come back?’

‘No,’ Aaron says, ‘It’s your turn now to come to me. I made the first move. And you know where I am, where I’ve always been. I’ll be waiting.’

Things he’s forgotten how to do, things he’s having to learn over; how to shop when there’s so much choice, how to cook for one, how to be in a space after 6 pm that’s bigger than twelve foot by eight, and feel secure when there’s no lock on the door, keeping him in and the world out.

How to make decisions. How to measure time without the volume of male voices ebbing and flowing on caged landings, or the automatic extinguishing of lights.

He reaches up to the wall calendar, trying to steady the permanent tremor in his right hand as he traces the days in a line since Aaron showed up.

The push-pull panic paralyzes him. He knows Aaron’s waiting for him to return the visit. How does Aaron experience time?

He’s on the second line on the calendar when he gets the text.

_It must be full on running a farm, but if you can get away, I’m home this afternoon._

He paces up and down, phone in one hand, the other on the back of his head; he could literally pee himself he’s that het up, he knows he’s being ridiculous…

Another text: -

_Just us_

He uses the bathroom, steps out into the muddy yard where one of the lads has collected the dogs and some wire to repair a fence on his way to the pasture.

‘You’ll have to manage on your own this afternoon, I’m going out. Don’t forget the silage. I’ll call Eddie to come around and give you a hand with the milking in case I’m not back, alright?’

Just like the first time, it’s sex they need to communicate. Knowing it, Aaron takes him by the hand the moment he walks through the door, takes him upstairs.

He watches as Aaron sweeps off his sweater, then looks at the door, goes to it and drops the latch, and then undresses.

The sex consumes them.

It's only after that he looks around and registers it's not the same room as before. He spools back in his mind; the door was the same when he arrived, and the fireplace, but everything else about the house has changed. 

'We converted back the flat and made it into one house again, we needed the space,' Aaron says, reading his eyes.

Robert nods, tries to remember back to the start of his sentence; wasn't it what he'd wanted? To be erased? And it was practical if they started a family, he tells himself.

‘You got in a few fights, then.’

‘You remember what it’s like in there.’

Aaron turns him over, turns him back. He’s making a minute examination.

Robert regards him from half-lidded eyes; they’ve both changed physically.

It doesn’t occur to him that Aaron won’t approve of what he finds. It’s just that they’re different now, inevitably. Older; muscles more defined, finer skin. He has more freckles, he knows. And Aaron’s love trail… he wants to reach out and touch it again, but waits, sensing Aaron wants to talk, which means he needs to concentrate, because this is the hard bit where he’s most exposed.

‘This is the worst one.’

Aaron's hand soft on his knee. ( _A ferry ride in handcuffs, a stay in Portsmouth infirmary.)_ He blinks.The worst are on the inside,he thinks. It scares him; Aaron finding them out. He won’t take anything for granted; not one second.

Aaron picks up his hand now, turns it, traces his thumb over the calloused knuckles.

‘Looks like you got someone back.’

‘You know me; I missed, hit the wall instead.’

He grins suddenly, sees the flash of Aaron’s answering smile. And for the first time they actually hold each other’s eyes… _Looking_.

 _So, where do we go from here?_ He knows it’s what they’re both thinking, knows it’s too soon yet to say it aloud. Weren’t they always bad at this?

His hand shakes; blasted tremor! still resting in Aaron’s, who notices and moves it against his face, stroking his beard against it.

 _‘You know!’_ – wasn’t that what they used to say; their code when words failed? But now what does he know? The years have passed and he’s back to zero. Not even born again.

This is pre-birth. A good place to be because it still doesn’t hurt. He knows it will, wonders why he’s afraid. He thought he was past fear by now in this after-before-life space.

But Aaron’s changed that all over again.

The kids will be home in another half an hour,’ Aaron says.

‘I need to get back,’ he answers quickly, hesitates, and then adds, ‘Why don’t you bring them to the farm one day?’

He watches Aaron’s face as he thinks about it.

Things he’s forgotten how to do, things he’s having to learn over; like hope again.

He has a herd of dairy cattle and sixty black-face sheep. The arable land he’s parceled for wheat and maize, then there are leeks, carrots, and lettuce he’s chosen to grow under polytunnels as winter crops. He’s put up a commercial greenhouse for seedlings.

He’s invested everything; the money that Diane left when she passed, the capital from his share of Home James. The banks won’t sneeze in his direction so it’s no good looking for credit. He’ll make it work though, he’s determined.

Sometimes he thinks about his dad, still trying to prove something after all these years.

Because of timing he was late getting the sheep tupped so no lambs until April. These are the lean months. He thinks hard, goes into town to buy strawberries to plant out after the frost. Kids; they love sweet things.

Aaron’s kids. He can’t remember the specifics of their faces from the photo he’d shown, just movement and glowing eyes and faces, one of the girls wearing braces on her teeth.

He has one, too, that he’s lost. Nearly grown up now he thinks.

He goes into one of the polytunnels to check the humidity gauge, looks up at the steel frame and has his first panic attack, lies on the ground, thinks gladly - this is how my dad died, notices the young lettuces he’s crushed into the brown earth before he passes out.

He’s in the hospital when he sends the text.

_April is better_

It’s all he can think of to say, and there are weeks to go, nearly ten weeks, after fourteen years he can wait for that, and maybe April will never come if he lives in the present.

****

It’s evening when the ambulance drops him off. He hears the cows, Eddie must have taken care of the milking like he asked, walks round to check. The dogs are still yapping when he puts his key in the lock of the front door.

A figure looms from the shadows. His heart stops, the second time that day. There are blue eyes in the dark. He swallows, drowning in them.

‘I have PTSD,’ he says.

‘I know. I’d like to stay the night.’

‘When?’

‘Well I’m here aren’t I?’


	2. The Meadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very much about the two of them. xx

He has forty acres of meadow land, he explains, and that can yield around 100 bales of hay per acre, so 4,000 bales, and a contractor charges around £10 per acre to mow and then 50p to bale each bale...

‘...so basically it would work out cheaper if I just buy my own mower, second hand or something, but I’m thinking ahead because it really won’t matter until May, June... ‘

Aaron’s watching him, holding a beer to his chest, eyebrows raised. They’re both still standing. He hasn’t even offered to hang his coat up for him, yet.

He needs rescuing, why aren’t they having sex? He’s forgotten all his smooth moves in the mists of time and he needs Aaron to initiate it, but Aaron said _let’s hang out, be normal_ \- as if he was capable of that!

‘Sorry.’

‘No, I like you talking about the farm.’

He glances up at the clock. There’s another hour before he needs to take a shower, and then lights out at ten. How are they going to fill an hour?

‘So, the meadow… right now it’s winter pasture for the cows, which is great because they like to forage, they like cereals, and there’s a special cake that’s fortified…’

‘Tell me about the PTSD?’

‘Cortisol, sustained release into the bloodstream over a period time. But I’m fine, really. I’m fine.’

‘It’s still dark.’

‘I know, you can go back to sleep.’

The mattress dips towards him as he leans over to pull on a second pair of socks, layering up, it’s cold out there.

There’s a tug on the stiff waistband of his jeans, he turns his head, let’s his eyes rest on the white reach of Aaron’s arm, palm open towards him where it rests on the cover of the bed.

‘I’ll come with you and help. What are you doing?’

‘Milking.’

‘Right, just a sec.’

‘Have you milked cows before?’

A distant recollection of Butlers comes to him, how Aaron and Adam used to hang out up there, long before he even knew them, a vague pricking of jealousy needles him for a moment, then vanishes.

He watches him hop into a pair of boxers, teeth chattering.

‘Never.’

‘Fat lot of use you’ll be then.’

‘It can’t be that hard, can it?’ Aaron sucks in his stomach as he pulls up his zip. ‘Not if you can do it.’

Are they flirting?

‘Here, you’ll need these.’

He throws a pair of thermal socks; watches Aaron catch them against his chest.

There’s a dangerous spark in his solar plexus, he scrambles to trap it, needs to lock it away fast before it runs riot down through his limbs, like he’s some Frankenstein’s monster brought back to life...and everyone knows how that story ends.

There are the constant reminders he’s been institutionalized; the gnawing hunger at noon and again at five; a consequence of set meal times, year in, year out - or rather, year in, _year no getting out_.

And then the early nights – he’d been totally convinced that he wouldn’t sleep a week. But then Aaron had joined him in the shower, and they’d taken it to the bedroom and well, after a mutual mouth job, he’d gone out like a light.

He’d woken once, to the sound of a message incoming on a phone.

‘Sorry, my eldest, she likes to check in.’

He’d been so self-absorbed, he realized, he hadn’t even asked about Aaron’s kids.

‘Are they safe?’

‘Course,’ he could hear the surprise at the question. ‘They’re with their other dad. Weekdays are mine, and then they go to him Friday, Saturday unless he’s away. But hey, you go back to sleep, yeah?’

‘I don’t think I can now.’

He’d heard Aaron put his phone down on the bedside table, and then felt the bed shift and was hit by a wave of his body heat as he turned towards him on his side.

‘Maybe this’ll help.’

A while later, he’d come with stars, punching through the silk tunnel of Aaron’s fist, and next thing he knew it was time to get up.

Downstairs he takes overalls off the peg in the porch, they pull coats on over them. He can hear Aaron fidgeting behind him as he unfastens the chain on the door, draws back the bottom and top bolts, turns the key a couple of times and then they’re out, faces assaulted by the cold air, the porch light spreading in a yellow arc over the stone steps down to the yard.

He hands Aaron wellies from a row of boots, then they walk side by side to one of the outhouses.

He unfastens the padlock, slides back the heavy wooden door and they’re met with the overpowering aroma of cattle. The overhead tube lighting flickers on.

‘Wow!’ Aaron says over the noise of the bellowing. ‘How many are there?’

‘Twenty-seven, not enough really to be profitable in the long run, but there’s a local cooperative that collects the milk, and it’s cash flow, which is the main thing this time of year.’

As he talks, he takes Aaron’s hands, trying to ignore the feel of them in his own, and steers them under a dispenser which says _Sanitizer_ on it, then he hands him a pair of black latex gloves from an open box beside it.

‘Put these on, and _don’t_ pet the dogs,’ he says as they run up, cautious at first then looking to Robert before they sniff around Aaron’s legs and then stretch and dance with an infectious enthusiasm, until Robert says, ‘Go on!’ and they turn around bounding across the straw bed of the large shed where the cows are already turning from their stalls towards a door at the other end.

They follow, Robert stopping on the way to scoop grain from a barrel into feeding trays for a couple of calves in closed stalls that are partitioned away from the adult herd.

And then he’s checking in on Aaron as they make their way through the huge beasts to open the door at the other side of the shed and they’re starting to form a line, crossing the yard towards the milking shed, already a new dawn.

Milking takes about forty minutes.

Except he can’t take his eyes off Aaron.

He'd showed him how to apply the iodine, check the milk flow by hand, and then attach the suction pipes to each cow in turn to fill the tank. Then Aaron took off his coat and pushed up his sleeves and got stuck in.

And he can’t help it, he has this tightness in his throat, and a weird sensation like he’s back to his childhood, and this barn is transformed to that barn, and he knows Aaron wasn’t there then, but, what if he was? A time traveler who’s been with him all his life...lost when the co-ordinates went awry...and now found…

‘Who’s this then? Did you tek someone on?’

‘Eddie! No, this is my hu...’

_…Jesus Fucking Christ!..._

‘Alright, mate? Name’s Aaron.’

 _Crashing back to planet earth_ as Eddie returns Aaron’s greeting with a wary nod.

Then Eddie’s hand is on his sleeve.

‘You forgot to give ‘em the cake, lad,’ he scolds, referring to the winter feed supplement. ‘N’eer mind, we’ll mek a farmer of ya, yet. And how’s your ticker? What did they say up at t’hospital?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for managing without me. I appreciate it.’

‘Well don’t go meking a habit of it,’ Eddie replies. He’s watching Aaron again. ‘What did ya say? Family, is he?’

Robert closes his eyes.

‘A friend,’ he says, ‘he’s a friend.’

It’s not raining, but there’s a white mist of moisture in the sky as they walk the cattle up the track past the arable fields and the polytunnels.

He closes the gate and they lean on it, watching for a while.

‘So, this is the infamous meadow,’ Aaron says. He can hear the smile.

‘Honestly, I just got started, you didn’t hear yet about the joys of nitrogen fertilizer, or the turnips…’

Aaron nods quietly by his side. He’s afraid to turn, because he thinks they might kiss, and sex is one thing, but a kiss, for its own sake, he might not survive it.

He pushes backwards away from the fence.

‘This is when I have breakfast,’ he says nonchalantly, ‘though you’ll probably want to be getting back by now.’

‘Breakfast sounds good.’

‘Tea and French toast, then, how does that sound?’

‘Sounds like all this farming malarkey is a cover and you’re still a posh wanker underneath,’ Aaron teases.

‘Alright, eggy bread and a brew to you... though I think you’ll find that the best chefs call it French toast!’

‘Spiffing!’ Aaron puts on a false accent, hands in his pockets as they start on their way back, he steps sideways, bumping deliberately into Robert’s shoulder.

‘Ow! Stop it, you!’

He waits for the curve in the path to get him back with a counter shove, and they both chuckle as the farmhouse comes into view.

_Definitely flirting._

‘They’re not pets, you know, they’re on the payroll.’

The dogs have followed them up the stone steps, Robert watches as Aaron spares a hand from removing his boots to tug at a soft-ear, obviously appreciated by the recipient who licks his fingers back.

‘Still cute though.’

‘Thought you’d have one by now,’ Robert says, unlocking the door.

‘Four kids are enough, imagine the camping holidays...’

The pain is so sudden and startling he doesn’t know what to do with it, they spill in over the threshold.

‘Are you okay?’

‘A headache...’

_‘Are you taking your meds?’ the doctor says, next to her there’s a custody officer, and another one he doesn’t recognize whose fingers are playing round the cap on a canister of PAVA spray. He raises a hand to his eyes, still burning, maybe it’s being fair skinned, because they said 12 minutes and that was surely hours ago. Behind him he can hear banging, howling, other male voices shouting._

_‘Tell me,’ the doctor says loudly above the cacophony, ‘…right now, on a scale from zero to ten, where zero is I want to kill myself, and ten is I’m having a party, where are you?’_

‘So, are you?’

‘What? Sorry?’

He’s lost time; his eyes swim into focus, outside that morning mist has turned into a light rain.

‘Are you taking medication?’

Aaron’s sleeves are pushed up above his wrists, he’s holding the kettle under the tap so they can make that brew. He’s distracted because all he can think is, _he’s touching my stuff,_ so he edges forwards, calculating how he can replace his fingers around the handle.

‘No, they gave me an ECG yesterday, though, turns out my heart is fine, I honestly thought I was dying.’

‘Well, I’d prefer it if you didn’t, not when I’ve just found you.’

He reaches out.

‘I can do that…’

He’s judged his moment to pounce, places one hand above Aaron’s and the other round the front of the kettle and sweeps it in an arc away from him. Water sloshes out of the spout at the motion and splashes onto the kitchen floor.

Aaron looks startled, he cringes at himself. But his attention is already caught by a four pack of snickers on the counter, and before he can stop himself, he’s picked it up too, so now he’s standing in the middle of the room, with a kettle in one hand, and the chocolate bars pressed against his chest.

Aaron’s mouth makes the shape of an ‘O’.

His breathing is coming thick and fast.

Aaron takes a careful step forward towards him, then another, slowly raises a hand.

Robert drops his chin, watches while he takes hold of the corner of the packaging around the snickers.

‘I’m not going to steal your chocolate, alright?’ Aaron says gently, then he leans his face closer and their foreheads touch.

His instinct is to pull back; the intimacy is terrifying,

‘On the other hand, if they were Curly Wurlies, well then you’d be in real trouble,’ Aaron adds softly, and then he says - ‘You’re not inside, not anymore.’

So, he relaxes his hold on the snickers, and Aaron takes them and puts them slowly back on the counter.

‘Come on, how about we skip breakfast, go back to bed.’

He turns his head sideways, abandoning the weight of it on Aaron’s shoulder, breathing hard against his throat... beside them on the bed there’s an unopened condom and lube.

‘You don’t mind that we didn’t...haven't done it like that yet...?’

‘Course not!’

He rolls onto his back, and Aaron sinks next to him, their damp shoulders pressed against each other as they drift noisily, letting the euphoria seep through their limbs and settle.

‘Next time,’ Aaron says eventually.

Robert closes his eyes.


	3. Goslings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More about the two of them

‘So, farming, how did that come about?’

He’d shifted onto an elbow.

‘So, you know food, yeah? Well, long, long ago, human beings used to go out hunting and gathering, and then one day some smart Alec…’

‘Alright, alright, tell me about _your_ farm.’

‘What’s to tell? Basically, there’s a landlord and I pay him rent to work the land and make some profit from it, hopefully…,’ he’d smiled all at once, ‘In other words, I’m officially a peasant.’

‘That’s quite hot in a way.’

‘What do you want me to do? Dress up in hemp cloth and short trousers? Let you claim your _droit du seigneur_?’

‘I don’t know what that is, but I’m claiming it.’

He’d thought the test was to survive life in prison, now he’s found out that’s just the beginning, the biggest test is to survive life after it.

And now Aaron’s coming round, messing with his loneliness.

The farmhouse has four bedrooms, astronauts and unicorns behind closed doors.

Half asleep, he swings his feet onto the disturbingly soft wooden floorboards, searches for the toilet in the room before he remembers, turns on the light switch and crosses the hall.

In the milking shed Eddie tells him his granddaughter is in her third trimester; some young heathen got her up the duff and buggered off, now he has to decorate a nursery, it’s the missus who wants it…

He always leaves early on a Sunday, likes a pint or two before a roast lunch.

Robert eats his toast standing, looking out of the window at the rain.

Turns on the radio for the week’s weather, the shipping forecast comes on first.

_‘Forties Cromarty Forth - East or Northeast 5 or 6, Rain later, Dover Wight – South veering South West for a time, becoming cyclonic later, showers…’_

He takes another bite of toast.

Random things he knows; that it’s fifteen nautical miles from the Isle of Wight to Southampton, that it’s two hundred nautical miles from the Isle of Wight to Hotten as the crow flies. A hundred and forty nautical miles to France... but that doesn’t really matter now, unless you’re a long distance swimmer.

He washes up his plate, puts it on the draining board.

He needs to get going, opens the washing machine and drags out the damp sheets bundling them into the tumble dryer - the scent of Aaron gone again.

Monday he spends the evening sitting over accounts and spreadsheets.

It was Charity who warned him about not borrowing before his prison income kicked in, _‘Robert Sugden-Dingle; a word from the wise…’_ She’d explained about the double bubble, where you pay back twice as much as someone lends, risk spiralling into debt, physical reprisal.

_Childs play..._

He and Aaron had been too busy at the time to talk about practical things; instead late nights and take-aways, video games.

Love-making in the early mornings, holding back the tsunami of time.

But Charity’s advice had helped. He’d used it when his turn came around, after all, scrape back a couple of surface layers and there’s that seam of pure Robert; he knows who he is.

Aaron’s faith in him was boundless once upon a time.

_‘I know you’re a good person, not everyone sees it.’_

_‘But I’m only a good person because you know it...’_

Quad Erat Demonstrandum - _waits to vanish ‘in a puff of logic.’_

Tuesday is the day he goes into the local market town. This week he goes to the barbers. After, he shops for a new shirt, something blue; curses the tremor in his hand as he struggles with the buttons behind the curtain.

He buys half a dozen seven-week-old geese on impulse, not that he particularly wants them, but when they get arsy, which he knows they will, he can deal with them and put them in the freezer.

Back at the farm, Eddie shows him how to clip their wings, but they can still generate quite a speed across the yard.

In the afternoon he hangs his new shirt in the closet next to his wedding suit. Pulls on overalls and his coat.

He takes the trailer up to the pasture with the hay and barrels of warm water for the sheep, climbs up the blustery slope to call them down.

Thursday night he takes an actual bath, falls asleep in it.

Friday after breakfast he changes from his work sweater into his new shirt, pulls a clean cardigan on over it, straightening the sleeves. When he goes down, he gets the text.

_Sorry, I can’t make it tonight, my eldest wants to stay at home. Next week though?_

Outside the geese are raucous.

He takes his coat off the hook, draws back the bolts on the door.

On the windy hill, he remembers the photograph, the braces on her teeth, beautiful blue eyes, beautiful child; Aaron’s child. Tells himself; at least he got something right.

He hammers in posts, building a windbreak for the sheep.

After an hour he stops and pours himself a coffee from a thermos, listens to the tick of rain against his waterproofs.

_‘Sugden. Manor Farm...’_

They’re talking about him.

 _‘Baggins...Shire...’_ he says to himself with stretch of his eyes. He knows they’re just farming folk, it’s in their blood to be curious where the land’s concerned, that’s all it is.

Crocodile Rock is playing quietly on the radio.

He has half an hour to kill before his appointment, so he’s come to the cafe in search of sugar. He takes off his coat, bites into a doughnut.

Some youths come in, one of them knocks his chair on the way to the counter.

‘Watch it!’

‘Sorry, mister!’

The one behind knocks his chair, too, this time deliberate. The legs scrape back as he stands, wiping sugar off his fingers with strokes of his hand. Things he’s learned inside; body language, how and when to look imposing…sort of…

He sees the fear in their eyes, they’re only young.

Then he hears the voices behind him:-

_Ex-con, Sugden, murderer…_

His chest starts to tighten. He can’t breathe…for fucks sake, not now, not here!

The table shifts sideways as he stumbles outside, a hand reaching out to the post of the traffic light at the pedestrian crossing, trying to stop himself falling while everything around him spins.

The crowd parts on the pavement, and all at once, there’s Aaron, coming towards him.

‘It’s okay, breathe, I’m here! I’ve got you!’ He’s holding him supporting his weight as he leans into him. ‘That’s it. Breathe again. Did someone hurt you?’

He frowns dizzily, following his eyes, looks down, sees the wet red stain on his sweater, lifts his hand and runs a finger through it.

‘It’s jam,’ he says, tasting it. ‘Strawberry.’

‘I had a pick-up in the area, so I dropped by the farm and saw your man, what’s his face.. Eddie. He said you were in town. I’ve been walking round for ages. Don’t you read your texts?’

Aaron’s taken him into a pub, and they’re sitting at a table, an untouched whiskey in front him. He frowns at it, trying to remember the taste.

‘And what’s with those birds?’

‘The geese?’

‘They need locking up.’

‘They’re on a warning.’

‘Drink it, then!’ Aaron points to the whiskey.

‘I can’t. I’ve got an appointment with my probation officer in five minutes. I have one every Tuesday. Sometimes they do that ETG test thing?’ 

He’s used to them from prison, pissing into a plastic container, not able to leave the room in case you fake a sample.

‘Why didn’t you say? I’ll come with you.’

‘You can’t come in.’

‘I know, it’s fine, I’ll wait, won’t I?’

When he comes out, Aaron stands, raising his eyebrows, asking silently, _was it alright?_

And he nods back, feeling relieved that the appointments over for another week, but also suddenly tired and potentially tearful, because he’s not used to anyone being there, especially not Aaron.

They walk back together towards the car park.

‘I have to go home,’ Aaron says, turning to face him. ‘Listen, the reason I came today, I didn’t have a pick up…I wanted to explain about last Friday. My daughter, Maisie…’

_She has a name._

‘Nothing’s happened, has it?’

‘No, she’s fine. The thing is she, erm, she started.’

‘Started?’

‘You know, she started her,’ Robert frowns watching him gesture. ‘… you _know_ \- women’s…’

‘Period?’

‘Yeah. The first time. She’s growing up. It’s why I couldn’t come. She wanted to stay with me at home, and not go to Ali’s.’

_He has a name._

‘How old is she?’

‘Twelve.’

_And now he’s doing maths, but trying not to…_

‘She’s okay?’ He can just about remember Liv during those days, though she was older. He smiles, creasing his eyes. ‘Hot water bottles?’

‘Yeah, that, and watching the Frozen remake a thousand million times. She milked it, took yesterday off school, but she’s back today.’

He looks up at the afternoon sky, the light’s just starting to change.

‘So, anyway, that’s why, I worried that you might have thought I didn’t want to come. But I did and I still do, so this Friday, I’d like to stay again if that’s alright with you?’

‘If Maisie needs you…,’ he tries out her name.

‘She’s fine, she’ll go to Ali’s this weekend like always.’

Another silence.

‘How did you decide it wasn’t right?’

‘We did one of them pub quizzes, Mr and Mr? and he didn’t get any of the questions right.’

‘You knew him longer than me.’

‘Some things aren’t about time, though, are they?’

‘Ow, your feet are cold!’

‘Sorry.’

The cover shifts chaotically as Aaron rubs them, one over the other, to warm them up.

‘That better now?’

He sweeps the soft arch of his feet down over his calves. It lights the touchpaper of desire, and for a moment he can’t think, can’t breathe.

‘Do you think they’ll be safe?’

‘The goslings? They’ll be fine. There’s a rifle in the study, if I hear there’s a fox in the night, I’ll go out.’

Aaron had helped make them an enclosure, hammering posts while Robert held them steady.

‘What?’ Robert asks.

‘Nothing, just you, the farm, can’t get my head around it sometimes.’

‘How about I get something else round your head instead?’ he replies, running his tongue over his lips.

‘Thought you’d never ask...’

He’d stopped him at the bottom of the stairs before they came to bed.

‘Wait...’

‘What? What is it?’

‘Last time you were here, you said _next time_ , remember, but, do you mind waiting?’

‘It’s fine,’ Aaron said gently. ‘It doesn’t matter, even if we never, you know, do it like that again, that’s fine too…’

‘Steady on…’

‘What I mean is…I’m sticking around. I’ve got you back and, …I’ve got you back.’

Aaron is leaning on his elbow doing that thing like last time; examining every detail of his face.

He looks up at him, moves the angle of his chin slightly to help him get a better view.

He knows he’s so locked in; there’s so many things they haven’t talked about, but Aaron’s here, right now, and he’ll take it.

Aaron’s eyes are still the deepest blue. 

‘Are you going white?’ Aaron asks.

‘Like Rip Van Winkle.’

‘Who?’

‘Basically, he's a farmer who meets some dwarfs, drinks wine he shouldn’t, falls asleep for twenty years, and when he wakes up, he has this long white beard, and everything in the world has changed without him.’

‘You wouldn’t suit a beard anyway.’

‘Careful! I might just try it, it would go with my new peasant image.’

‘So, this Rip Van Winkle...sort of like Sleeping Beauty, then?’

‘ _No!_ Well yes, maybe, except without the prince.'

He can see Aaron’s eyes are smiling. Almost fifteen years apart, both teetering on the wrong side of middle youth. But they can still read each other’s minds.

‘Don’t even go there!’ he warns with a laugh.

But Aaron’s face is inching forward, his mouth so close, and he grapples with it; because deep down he knows, Aaron _is_ his prince, come to wake him.

So, he closes his eyes, feels the faint scratch of his beard against his skin, holds his breath…

Feels the soft brush of his lips against his own, and then more pressure, feels his heart race - only this time it’s not a panic attack, he’s not dying, though he might as well now, because oh…he’s just still so in love with this man, who seems so determined to bring him back to life…

As they pull back, he opens his eyes and sees across the room…

‘I forgot to lock the door.’

But Aaron’s already settling down with his head against his shoulder, so maybe, maybe just for one night, he can leave it open.


End file.
